The art of rhetoric, with its power to shape public opinion and rally support, has been wielded masterfully by political leaders throughout history. Disturbingly, the narratives employed by Donald Trump and his staunchest defenders bear a striking resemblance to those of historical fascist movements, both in the U.S. and around the world. This essay seeks to explore these parallels, drawing connections from the tumultuous era of Trump’s rise to the presidency and the aftermath we are currently experiencing to some of the darkest chapters of the 20th century.
The narrative of injustice is a cornerstone of many political movements, but its use by Trump and historical fascists is particularly striking. In 1923, a decade before the Nazis’ successful seizure of power, Hitler’s arrest during the failed Beer Hall Putsch was portrayed as the persecution of a national hero, a martyr for the German cause. In contemporary times, echoes of this are seen in the way some Republicans, like Georgia State Senator Colton Moore, have responded to Trump’s legal challenges. His recent criminal indictments are depicted as witch hunts, with Moore even drawing a stark and historically inaccurate comparison to the Holocaust. Similarly, leaders of American fascist movements, such as Fritz Julius Kuhn of the German American Bund and George Lincoln Rockwell of the American Nazi Party, emphasized the alleged marginalization and persecution of their followers.
The rhetoric of victimhood is another thread that weaves through these narratives. Mussolini’s Italy was often portrayed as a nation wronged, a victim of international treaties that did not recognize its greatness. Trump’s speeches echo a similar sentiment, painting a picture of an America in decline and suggesting that “regular Americans,” particularly his overwhelmingly white evangelical base, are under siege in their own country. This narrative is not unique to Trump; Franco’s Spain was depicted as a nation under threat from communists and regional separatists, while Rockwell’s rhetoric centered on white Americans being victims in a society pushing for racial integration.
Integral to these narratives of injustice and victimhood is the idea of a protective duty. Ante Pavelić, the leader of fascist Croatia, presented himself as the savior of the Croatian people, aiming to shield them from Serbian oppression. Trump, on the other hand, positions himself as the only one who can “Make America Great Again,” suggesting a duty to protect the nation from various perceived threats, be they immigrants, foreign nations, or the so-called “deep state.” This protective duty was also emphasized by Mussolini, who believed in the expansion of Italian territories to reclaim its past glory, and by Salazar’s Portugal, which was built on the idea of preserving traditional values against the tide of modernity and communism.
Another salient parallel between Trump’s rhetoric and that of historical fascists is the vilification of government bureaucrats and political opponents. Hitler and the Nazis often derided the Weimar Republic’s officials as corrupt, inept, and, most insidiously, as traitors working against the interests of the German people. This narrative was crucial in consolidating power, as it allowed the Nazis to justify purges, arrests, and other authoritarian measures. Similarly, Trump frequently invokes the concept of the “deep state” — a supposed clandestine network within the U.S. government working against him and his administration. By doing so, he casts doubt on the legitimacy and loyalty of career civil servants and other government officials, suggesting that they were part of a covert operation to undermine his presidency. This rhetoric not only serves to delegitimize criticism and oversight but also fosters an environment of distrust and paranoia, much like the atmospheres cultivated by fascist leaders of the past.
Perhaps the most concerning aspect of these parallels is the dangerous use of rhetorical extremes. The hyperbolic propaganda of fascist regimes, whether it be Mussolini’s Italy portraying itself as the heir to the Roman Empire or Rockwell’s overtly racist and anti-Semitic speeches, serves to inflame passions and deepen societal divisions. Senator Moore’s comparison of Trump’s legal challenges to the Holocaust is a chilling reminder of how extreme rhetoric can trivialize history’s most heinous crimes.
In conclusion, the echoes of past fascist movements in the rhetoric surrounding Trump’s presidency are undeniable. While the contexts may differ, the narratives of victimhood, injustice, and protective duty remain eerily consistent. Recognizing these patterns is crucial, not just for understanding the past, but for ensuring that its darkest chapters are not repeated.
